


Under the Influence

by sonofasheriff (LadyMeltintalle)



Series: Untitled [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:16:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMeltintalle/pseuds/sonofasheriff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles took an arrow to the leg, and Derek takes care of him when he gets out of the hospital. Goofy pain killer induced silliness,  heavy conversation about the future, fluff and shower smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Influence

**Author's Note:**

> \---] Part two of a tumblr prompt. I mean it's hardly part two, it's more like I just felt like writing hurt/comfort fluff and shower smut and already had the perfect set up. So you can read it as stand alone, as long as you understand that Allison shot Stiles under orders from her parents while Stiles was trying to save Derek. But you should probably just read the other one, even though it has a COMPLETELY different tone than this one. I just like writing banter and fluff better, so I like this one better. That is all.  
> \---] Also, only compliant with Season 2 up until about Frenemy (2x06,) maybe one after that. Basically, mama Argent was never bitten and Derek's pack hasn't fucked off yet.

“Put your seatbelt on.”

“You’re not wearing yours.”

“Stiles, please. Put your damn seatbelt on.”

“Alright, alright. It’s only like a minute to my house. Or like six seconds if we were riding dragons.”

“Dragons? Are you sure the nurse only gave you one pain pill before we left?”

Stiles giggled, actually giggled and Derek shook his head and started his car. It may only be a short distance to Stiles’ house, but if he didn’t stop acting a fool it was going to seem like ten years. It’s not that Derek wouldn’t have laughed with him on a normal day, but at the moment he was too shaken by the events of the night before to even consider cracking a smile now that they were outside in the open.

Near death experiences including being strung up and tortured weren’t his idea of a good night, especially when Stiles was used as blackmail to get sheriff Stilinski to release Chris Argent from jail on top of it. They both could have died, but luckily all Stiles took away from the event was a small but deep hole in his leg from an arrow and a nick on his throat. If Allison hadn’t totally saved Derek’s life he might be a little ticked at her for shooting Stiles in the thigh in order to appease her parents, but all things considered, he’s glad she played along this time.

The Argents were supposed to be long gone by now, fled town with just the shirts on their backs, which would be a joyous occasion except Derek knew it wasn’t over. Just helping Stiles into the car, spending that extra five minutes out in the parking lot made the hair on Derek’s neck stand up. He could almost bet that even if the Argents were gone, they still had people here watching Derek and, by proxy, Stiles, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike again. It wouldn’t matter if Derek was standing in public; one of the Argents’ soldiers would pick him off with a wolfs bane bullet and suffer the legal consequences, because their mission for vengeance would be even stronger now.

“You missed the turn, baby - er, buddy. Yeah, buddy. You missed my street,” Stiles said, clearing his throat and floundering a little at his slip up, the pain medication making him aware of himself just enough to be embarrassed about using a romantic term of endearment that neither of them had ever used, never would use ever. It’s just not how they worked.

Derek did smile at that even if he did indeed miss the turn, but decided to let it slide because Stiles was clearly giving himself a hard enough time about it. Plus, deep down Derek thought it was nice, because it’s not like anyone’s ever called him that sincerely.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” Derek said, doing a totally illegal U-turn and going back to the intersection and turning left onto Stiles’ street.

“Thinkin’ about what?”

“Just, last night,” Derek said vaguely, not really wanting to worry Stiles with the whole thing anymore. Getting shot for the first time had to be traumatic enough, let alone piling him with paranoia about being at the top of the Argents’ hit list. Derek would just take it upon himself to keep his senses alert for any sign of the hunters so neither of them got hurt.

“Did they have to put me back in these gross clothes? I could have left in the hospital gown like you. You have a really nice car. I think I missed the Mets game and I want some ice cream...” Stiles said with a dreamy tone, as if his mind was just firing his thoughts without a filter. Derek thought that Stiles certainly didn’t need any help in that department, but Derek was happy to avoid the subject of last night like the plague. It gave him too much to think about, and he didn’t have any answers for Stiles if he were to ask Derek about what happens now or something with an equally big question mark after it.

“You didn’t miss the game; it’s still Saturday morning, believe it or not,” Derek said, parking the car and pointing at the display which read 11:46. “I can set it to record for you before we go upstairs if you want.”

“That would be great, I’ll get the ice cream and bacon while you do that,” Stiles nodded resolutely, like that was the best plan ever. Derek was starting to see why Mr. Stilinski told him that Stiles and pain pills were an interesting combination. Apparently he would drop off in the middle of a sentence asleep too, so you had to keep an eye on him in case he was walking or something.

“Ice cream and bacon? Don’t cry to me when you get nightmares from that,” Derek said, unbuckling Stiles’ seatbelt for him because he appeared to have lost the ability to use his extremities.

“No, you get nightmares from pepperonis and chocolate milk. Trust me. In fact, I think I got heartburn just thinking about it,” Stiles said seriously. Derek shook his head and rolled his eyes a little, because of course Stiles would know what combination of weird ass food would give you bizarre dreams. It’s just the kind of thing he would know, he’d probably have a scientific reason if he had the use of higher brain function at the moment.

“I’ve never had heartburn,” Derek said before getting out of his car and shutting the door, then going around to open the passenger door.

“How is that even possible? All of humanity has experienced heartburn at least once,” Stiles said, goggling at him.

“I’ve never been human either,” Derek said with a smirk, holding his hand out to help Stiles up from the seat. Derek lifted Stiles easily, steadying him by wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I’d love to think that sentence doesn’t turn me on, but I’d be lying to myself. Suddenly I’m a Twi-hard weirdo with a werewolf habit. Good God, I need to stop speaking, don’t I?”

“Probably for the best,” Derek agreed, cringing a little when he had to kick his car door shut with his heel. The Camaro would forgive him, hopefully. 

Stiles was able to put a little pressure on his leg, at least he could while he had his arm around Derek’s neck, and Derek’s arm around his waist. Together they were able to get him into the house with only some hobbling and stopping to wait for pain to pass.

Stiles did indeed hobble into the kitchen, rubbing his sleepy eyes so he could see into the fridge better, but there wasn’t anything exciting to eat there so he checked the freezer. Derek watched him hop on one foot over to the spoon drawer and dig into a carton of moose tracks ice cream like it was made of sex and warm blankets and happiness.

“I thought you wanted to take a nap?” Derek inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“I need nourishment first. And this tastes like Heaven,” he replied around a mouthful. Derek shook his head and went to seize the ice cream. He would get Stiles a better dinner later that wasn’t ice cream. Neither of them had slept in forever though, so Derek was on a mission to get them upstairs before it was Stiles dragging him up the stairs instead. Not to mention once all the painkillers were out of Stiles’ system he was going to be one sad kid, and Derek didn’t want him to be up walking around when the morphine was gone.

“I know you feel okay right now, but you need to get upstairs to bed before the morphine wears off,” Derek said, plucking the carton of ice cream from Stiles hands.

“But I’m fine! I just don’t stand on this leg and I can hop around on the other one. See,” Stiles said, hopping on one leg like a human pogo stick. Derek could see his face crumple a little as all the jostling pulled on his stitches and Stiles fell forward into the counter.

“Stiles, listen to me. You were shot. In the leg. Shot, Stiles. Do I need me to spell it out for you?”

“But I’m fine,” Stiles insisted again without much conviction this time, trying to get his bearings back, still clutching the counter.

“You’ve got muscle tissue damage. It’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch in about an hour, especially if you keep acting like an imbecile. Now get your ass upstairs or I’m going to drag you up there by your ankles.”

“Okay, God! You’re starting to sound like my dad instead of Derek Hale. Then again I suppose you’ve always been into bossing me around, huh?” Stiles said, sticking his tongue out but smiling around it.

“You’re a crackhead. Come on,” Derek said, taking Stiles by the waist again and helping him bounce out of the kitchen and over to the stairs. Stiles stared up the billion and one steps and shook his head.

“You know, on second thought, I think I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said. Derek looked back and forth between the stairs and Stiles.

“You won’t let me carry you up, will you?”

“Not a chance.”

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” Derek said, nodding. He pointed to the left of Stiles into the dining room. “Is that... is that a bird in your house?”

“What?” Stiles whipped his head around and Derek took the opportunity to catch him off guard, scooping Stiles up right off his feet like a blushing bride faster than Stiles could even process.

“Hey, jerk! I should have seen that coming,” he pouted, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck on instinct, but still squirming as Derek quickly carried him up the stairs effortlessly. Derek silently laughed smugly at how flawlessly that worked and carried Stiles right into this bedroom.

“Now stay put,” Derek said, laying Stiles on the diagonal bed in the corner of the room. Stiles flinched a little when he tried to rearrange his legs. Derek could hear the spike in Stiles’ blood pressure at the pain and he frowned. “You get some sleep; I’ll be back in a little bit.”

“No, wait!” Stiles said, grabbing Derek by the hospital gown and tugging him down to catch his eyes. “I thought... I thought you were going to stay here with me.”

Derek looked in Stiles’ brown eyes and saw the fear there for the first time and he understood. Of course Stiles would be sincerely shaken underneath his usual scattery, spazztic exterior. Last night was even traumatic for someone like Derek who’d been through hell in back, let alone for Stiles who was still, even a year later, trying to keep up mentally with all the grief that went along with knowing werewolves. Not to mention the people that wanted to kill them. Of course Stiles wouldn’t want Derek to leave his sight, probably not ever, but especially not right now when he was hurt and wasn’t sure if Derek would come back.

They would never really talk about it because it’s not something either of them could do very easily, but Derek leaned down and kissed Stiles, hoping to relay that he wasn’t going to leave Stiles, not ever.  Derek felt Stiles relax a little and let Derek’s tongue slip into his mouth easily, because kissing had always been easier than talking for them, and that was fine with Derek. In fact, it’s one of the things Derek sincerely appreciated about Stiles, is that he never tried to make Derek share anything he sincerely didn’t want to. Sure Stiles would ask whatever was on his mind, but he would usually backpedal when he realized he’d struck a nerve, or overstepped his bounds. Stiles’ willingness to leave Derek’s emotions be honestly made Derek want to tell him more things than if Stiles were to pry, which was weird but productive. But right now they wouldn’t talk about last night; it was too raw, too fresh, and neither of them had had the time to really process what had happened.

Unfortunately Derek would have to break up this kiss and force Stiles to sleep soon, even though he’d rather just crawl in bed and hold Stiles until they both fell asleep. When he tried to pull back Stiles held Derek’s hospital gown tighter, shortening the distance between them. He hummed his disapproval against Derek’s mouth and it made Derek smile into the kiss. For being an alpha, he let this little punk push him around a lot. The moment he actually cares he’ll do something about it, though.

“Stiles,” Derek mumbled against Stiles’ lips, even though it didn’t sound like anything intelligible at all. He mustered up all his willpower and pulled away for real, making Stiles frown at him. “I’ll be back in a little bit. I’m just going to get your prescriptions filled before you need them again.”

“Why didn’t we get them while we were already out?”

“Because you need your rest. And if I’m here you’ll never shut your eyeballs. Sleep, you stubborn ass. I’ll be back before you wake up again.”

“But I just had one, she said every four hours. Just-” Stiles bit his lip and stopped himself. Derek could practically feel Stiles berate himself mentally for being clingy and whiny. “Okay, you know where I’ll be when you get back.”

“You better be right here when I get back or I’ll have to tie you to this bed,” Derek said, shaking a finger at Stiles’ face, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“Was that a deterrent or an encouragement, I really can’t tell.” The mischievous smirk on Stiles’ face earned him another quick kiss and a head shake.

“I’ll know if you’ve moved too. Don’t think you can sneak around while I’m gone,” Derek said, turning to leave.

“Dude, don’t you think you should change your shirt? I mean the escaped mental patient look is a little out of season, but you do what you like.”

Derek looked down at the minty green hospital gown that he’d actually gotten pretty comfortable in, apparently comfortable enough to forget he looked like an idiot. But damn it he hated wearing Stiles’ clothes. He really needed to leave some laundry here.

Derek sighed and stomped over to Stiles’ dresser, pushing things around until he found the grey Henley that he’d borrowed before. At least it wasn’t two sizes too small, just one, which he could work with. Stiles watched him from the bed with silent amusement.

“Shut up.”

“You got it,” Stiles said, still smiling broadly as he dropped his head back against his headboard shelves and closed his eyes. He peered out only a little to watch Derek yank the hospital gown over his head (which was unnecessary because it had ties on it, but that wasn’t as dramatic,) and pull the other shirt on.

“Sleep,” Derek said before disappearing through the door. He could hear Stiles shift down the bed and settle into soft pillows on his way out the front door, and for once in his life, Stiles actually obeyed Derek.

 

****

 

Stiles didn’t wake up until dusk; it was pretty dark in his room, he was starving and his leg was aching something fierce. Not to mention he just kind of felt like he was hit by a particularly large bus that didn’t bother breaking before it ran him over, the pain of it a dull drumming over his whole body. If it wasn’t for the warm body spooned entirely up next to his he might have freaked out about how terrible he felt, but Derek sensed him waking up immediately and held him tighter.

“Holy hell, I’m dying,” Stiles said with a pathetic, scratchy voice, trying not to move because his leg was both screaming with pain and also asleep, so add pins and needles on top of the wound. There seemed to be some truth to his statement, really.

“No you’re not, just stay relaxed,” Derek said, nosing into Stiles’ chest and finding one of his hands to hold onto. “The doctor said your leg would get really stiff. I have to make you get up and walk on it a little bit so it doesn’t spasm or atrophy.”

“You could just kill me, I think it would be easier for both of us,” Stiles said, throwing an arm over his eyes. Derek was nestled under the other one like a fucking teddy bear and Stiles would have laughed if his leg didn’t feel like it had just been pinned by a shelf full of falling paint cans filled with pennies. Derek wasn’t an inherently snuggly guy, and if he did snuggle it was usually because Stiles laid all over him and gave him no choice. But there he was, all curled up against Stiles’ side like a puppy on his itty bitty full mattress and Stiles couldn’t resist running his fingers through Derek’s hair since his hand just wanted to fall there anyway.

“Collect yourself, I’m making you come downstairs with me,” Derek said to Stiles’ collar bone.

“I need to bathe or something, man. I can’t believe you’re lying so close to my armpit. I’m still all gross from last night. I understand if you don’t want to date anymore. I wouldn’t be my boyfriend either.”

“You’re fine. You need to eat something first so I can give you another pill and an antibiotic,” Derek said, shifting out from under Stiles’ arm as gently as he could. Stiles held in a whimper when the bed bounced back from the loss of Derek’s weight. He couldn’t even wiggle his toes at the moment, there was no way in Hell Derek was going to get him to move downstairs. And he was totally serious about that shower, by the way, not the he could really stand up in there.

“Derek, no, don’t-!” Stiles started to protest when he realized Derek was about to wrangle him into a sitting position. Derek grabbed Stiles’ right hand and ducked his head under Stiles’ arm, forcing him to sit up by overpowering him.

Naturally it hurt like hell and he whined embarrassingly. Then Derek gingerly moved his legs to hang over the edge of the bed and he could barely keep from sobbing because the pain in his leg was unreal, so much worse even than when it had the arrowhead still in it. This was absolutely horrible and he held Derek around the neck and tried to gasp the air that had been stolen from his lungs at the unbearable pain streaking through his leg from his toes all the way up to his chest.

Even with his feet both planted on the ground Stiles was lightheaded and blinded by the sensation, and Derek tried to keep him upright. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was sobbing out loud or not but he realized he was indeed crying when he tasted the salty tear stream on his lips.

“It’s okay, come on, I’ve got you. Just relax, I won’t move you yet.”

Derek was starting to sound upset too, like seeing Stiles in so much distress was giving him sympathy pains or just heartache for seeing him so hurt. Stiles knew Derek felt like it was all his fault, and he didn’t want Derek to be upset about it so he took a couple more deep breaths and tried to get a hold of himself. He was a big boy, he’d broken bones before. This wasn’t his first rodeo; he needed to get a grip.

“I’m okay, I’m okay. I’m sorry, I just- I wasn’t expecting it to suck that much,” he said through heaving breaths. He wiped his eyes on his forearm, keeping an arm anchored securely around Derek’s neck because he literally might hit the floor if he didn’t hold on.

“It should get easier after this time,” Derek said, keeping his body in an awkward crouching position so Stiles could hold on to him. “I told you once the morphine from the hospital wore off you’d wish you were dead. It’s been six hours.”

“Sure, hit me with an ‘I told you so’ right now, jerk,” Stiles said, leaning forward and biting Derek’s shoulder a little. The pain was actually subsiding a bit now that there was blood running back in his leg again, and it had simmered down to a heated, festering throb instead of an apocalyptic, world ending sort of pain.

“Well, I did tell you so,” Derek said, smiling as Stiles bit him harder that time. “You ready for the crutches?”

“You got me crutches?” Stiles’ ears perked up. He’d had crutches several times before, but his dad always got rid of them after whatever ailment Stiles had went away. This is because Stiles LOVED fucking around on his crutches, usually resulting in more injury for someone. Like that one time he tried to use one as a pogo stick on the trampoline when he was ten. God, that was fun, even if he did knock a tooth out. His cousin’s tooth, but whatever. She didn’t need it; it was still a baby tooth. Stiles failed to see why his exciting crutches needed to be confiscated.

“Your doctor got you crutches. Or he would have, but the pharmacy said you only get one pair free on your insurance, and you’ve already had some. So yes, I bought you crutches,” Derek said with a sigh. “Can you sit up by yourself?”

Stiles released his hold on Derek and realized that he could sit up without a prop (which, when that prop is Derek Hale, he was reluctant to let it go.) He watched Derek cross the room and grab the crutches that were leaning against the wall while trying to psych himself up to actually using them. He might be able to sit up by himself, but walking was a different story.

 

****

 

“That is the last time you carry me up or down the stairs. I’m not even sure if my pride can be restored as it is,” Stiles said, digging into the plate of freezer lasagna Derek had located and heated for him. Stiles sat slightly sideways at the bar stool behind the island counter, hurt leg propped up on the other barstool and a couch throw pillow, and watched Derek watch him eat. He couldn’t even be ashamed for shoveling it in, since he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten anything.

He suddenly had a million questions for Derek, and asked them each through mouthfuls of pasta.

“Have you heard from my dad?”

“Yes, he’s asleep upstairs.”

“He’s here?! Why didn’t you wake me up, or at least tell me while we were upstairs?” Stiles asked, wildly waving his saucy fork around.

“Because you both needed rest. He was a wreck when he got home. He didn’t even care that I was sleeping in your bed with you, if that says anything about how exhausted he was.”

Stiles crinkled his brow and stared down at his food, suddenly not hungry.

“Did he say anything about the case?”

“No. He thanked me for taking care of you, rubbed his eyes like he was already dreaming the whole thing, and went off to his room. You woke up shortly after, and I didn’t want you to limp in there and wake him.”

Stiles didn’t say anything to that, just pushed his saucy noodles around and bit his lip. He wanted to ask Derek so many more questions, but he knew Derek wouldn’t want to talk about it. Normally that wouldn’t bother him, and he’d just fire away with anything his mind was wandering through, but now was different because Stiles didn’t _really_ want to talk about it either. He just wanted to already know the answers. Like the answer to how they were going to get Allison away from the Argents and if she would even want to leave, and if Scott was going to flip his shit when he realized Allison was really and truly gone this time. The Argents wouldn’t show up in town, not for a long time, but people that work with them would, and Stiles wasn’t even sure he could protect himself. He wanted to ask Derek how it was going to be for all of them from now on, since everything was all messed up now, and there was absolutely no sense of normalcy. Not that Stiles can even remember what normal feels like since the day Scott was bitten, but they’d all hit a kind of familiar stride with how to handle werewolf business and politics, and still remain friends on top of it.

Stiles sighed and shook his head against the new wave of pain medication making his head feel a little dizzy. It was also dragging his mind away from the gravely serious topic of the future and making it drift toward the way Derek was still in that tight, long sleeved shirt and leaning against the counter, observing Stiles like he was a particularly sexy science experiment. Stiles dropped his fork and rubbed his eyes. This was not the time to be thinking about the prospect of spending the whole night with Derek, and more importantly, sharing a bed.

Derek picked up the plate that Stiles had abandoned and scraped it off in the garbage, taking care of everything like he owned the place.

“Are you still interested in a shower?” Derek asked, coming around the island counter and raking his fingernails down Stiles’ back. Stiles nodded, making his vision swim a little more. He couldn’t turn on his stool to face Derek because his leg would fall, but he did let his head fall on Derek’s chest because that’s just the kind of thing Stiles did when he was under the weather, both emotionally and physically. Derek dropped his nose, lips and chin into Stiles’ buzzed off hair and sighed like he wasn’t sure what to do to make Stiles feel better about their situation. Stiles couldn’t blame him, it’s not like anyone could have predicted shit hitting the fan so spectacularly. He wasn’t a werewolf, but he could still sense Derek’s frustration with not being able to cheer Stiles up.

What Derek didn’t know is that just having Derek there with him, sharing this weirdly tranquil, quiet moment with nobody around was pleasantly surreal, in spite of everything. They hardly ever got the time to just hang out in each other’s company without a time limit. It was wonderful, feeling Derek’s heartbeat under his cheek, Derek’s breath in his hair, the overwhelming flood of affection and just... everything about the randomly perfect moment in Stiles’ kitchen on a Saturday evening.

That is until Stiles had a thought, which naturally tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself from ruining the moment.

“What about the pack?” he asked, lifting his head to find Derek’s eyes.

“They’re taken care of,” Derek said with a note that suggested Stiles not ask any more about it. But as it happened, Stiles liked to tempt fate.

“What do you mean? Aren’t they in danger without you there to protect them?”

“Stiles, they are fine. They are hidden very well until you can take care of yourself,” Derek said with the same finality.

“But they need you too. I can take ca-”

“I want to be here with you, okay? I don’t want you to worry about anything but getting better.”

Stiles smiled, a dopey, drowsy smile that would probably make Derek have to look away or he might actually laugh or something that would tarnish his frowny reputation.

“You loooove me,” he said, managing to make it sound like a tease instead of an observation, and Derek rolled his eyes and tried to back away. Stiles caught his shirt by the hem and pulled him back up to him. Derek sighed again, but the corners of his mouth were threatening to turn up.

“You need a shower, Pig Pen,” Derek said, failing at sounding authoritative.

“Speak for yourself, dude. You smell like you rolled in something out in the yard. I wasn’t going to say anything, but you started it,” Stiles sassed, flicking Derek in the chest.

“Ouch, dog jokes are below the belt, don’t you think?” Derek said with a hint of a growl, but it wasn’t an angry one. Stiles could usually tell when he’d actually crossed the line with his mouth.

“Well it’s not like there is anything else to write home about under your belt,” Stiles sassed again, pushing all the buttons he could. Derek did laugh then, a low, rumbling laugh that for some reason went right to Stiles’ cock and he wondered if he was really about to turn their lame heart to heart into a sex party in his kitchen. Really, Stiles _, really?_

“You have a death wish, don’t you?” Derek said, dipping his head down to nip at Stiles’ neck playfully. Stiles’ laugh was a little choked off because having Derek’s teeth on his skin always made his brain short circuit, but he wasn’t going to unravel that easily. 

“I like to live dangerously,” Stiles said with a cocky little smirk as he tipped his head back for Derek’s teeth to continue their journey down his throat. “Is that really all you’ve got though? I’m disappointed. I was expecting some sort of defense of your manhood, followed by a promise to show me just how noteworthy it is.”

“Not now,” Derek said, just as Stiles had threaded his fingers through Derek’s hair. Stiles let out a most embarrassing disappointed sound when Derek pulled back entirely, leaving Stiles’ neck reddening from the nips. There was no way Derek was about to leave him high and dry. That was just downright rude, and Stiles wasn’t going to stand for it. Or sit for it, whatever. Stupid leg.

“What are you doing?!” he squeaked, just shy of a whine. He wouldn’t be that needy, no way.

“You still stink. And if you think I’m going to make out with the Sheriff’s son in his kitchen while he’s asleep upstairs, you’re more insane than I thought,” Derek said, sliding one of his arms under the leg Stiles had propped up on the bar stool. “Come on.”

“Wait! Stop, I can walk there! Ouch!” Stiles struggled as Derek tried to scoop him off the chair without any preamble, pulling his stitches and banging his elbow off the island counter. He was so not going to let Derek carry him everywhere. Plus, he was still all... wound up and stuff. He was going to need a minute to catch his breath (and get over his disappointment.)  “Okay okay, I get it, shower time! But let me walk! Why get me crutches if you’re just going to carry me everywhere?”

“You can’t even walk without falling when both of your legs function normally,” Derek said, hoisting Stiles in his arms like a damn baby, which Stiles resented. He didn’t struggle though, because what’s the point? Derek was right, of course. And walking did really hurt. And the medication was making it hard for him to hate being carried as much as he should, or maybe he just secretly loved that Derek was taking care of him like this.

“Fine, carry on, Hodor,” Stiles retorts, putting his arm around Derek’s neck and pretending to pout.

“Hodor?” Derek asks, drawing his eyebrows together as he carried Stiles out of the kitchen now that he’d stopped flailing. Stiles grabbed Derek’s jaw and looked him in the eye.

“Don’t you read?” When Derek returned with a raised eyebrow Stiles sighed dramatically. “In Game of Thrones, Hodor carries Bran Stark around when he - you know what, nevermind. I’m making you at least watch the show.”

“Don’t you think I have better things to be doing than watching television?”

“Not if you’re my boyfriend,” Stiles said, reassessing everything he thought he knew about Derek. Some things were just deal breakers, like being ignorant of one of the greatest stories ever told. Derek just chuckled at him and shook his head.

“Fine, after I manage to end the Argent-Pack turf war, I’ll let you swamp me with all the pop culture I’ve missed in the last seven years.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Oh, I know you will.”

 

****

 

Getting Stiles to agree to use the guest bathroom downstairs instead of his own was a challenge, but he finally agreed when Derek glared at him and reminded him that his dad’s bedroom was right next to the bathroom and it would be extremely rude when he hadn’t slept in so long.

He left Stiles in the bathroom to run upstairs and collect some clothes for Stiles to change into once he wasn’t dirty anymore, and also some pajama pants for himself. At least Stiles’ pajamas wouldn’t fit Derek like a second skin, not that he’d ever stayed long enough to need them before. This was the first time he would actually spend the night with Stiles, and he couldn’t bring himself to even feel guilty about it. Even his pack understood that Stiles needed Derek, even if Stiles wouldn’t admit it.

He was just grabbing Stiles’ razor out of the upstairs bathroom cabinet when he heard Stiles swear under his breath in the bathroom downstairs.

“What are you up to?” Derek sighed exasperatedly, grabbing the razor, a toothbrush and the armful of clothes and heading down to the other bathroom. He expected Stiles to have gotten up to something stupid, but when he opened the door Stiles was just leaning his palms flat against against the counter, staring at himself in the mirror.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, and Stiles shrugged.

“Not going to be playing much Lacrosse with this stupid leg, am I?”

“Well, you didn’t break your ass. You can still warm the bench just as well,” Derek said, feeling a little crappy for making a joke when Stiles hardly cracked a smile.

“I mean I was hoping to be able to play my senior year, but...”

“Hey, you don’t know that it won’t get better. She miraculously missed all the important muscles and bone. The doctor said you _might_ limp; he didn’t say it was a given,” Derek said, dropping the clothes on the counter and walking up behind Stiles to hug his back to his own chest. Stiles looked at them both in the mirror, and whether or not he actually believed that, he had enough optimism to nod anyway. Derek saw how tired he was though; just heart, soul and bone deep tired, and Derek wished he could take it all away. He sincerely wondered why Stiles was still willing to even involve himself with Derek and his pack, when it had brought him nothing but grief since day one.

“I hope not. I’m too cute to walk with a cane,” Stiles said, filing his angst away like he usually does. Derek sighed and smiled back at Stiles in the mirror, then dragged his fingertips up Stiles’ side, lifting his shirt along with it.

Stiles lifted his arms from the counter where they were bracing him so Derek could slide the shirt off, taking the hint that sharing time was over. Derek pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor, kissing his shoulder briefly before turning him around. Stiles made for Derek’s shirt, sliding his hands under the hem but Derek stopped him.

“Not right now,” he said, which made Stiles frown.

“Aren’t you getting in with me?”

“No.”

“But-!”

“No, Stiles. Your dad is upstairs and I don’t want to get shot.”

“It’s not like he sleeps with his shotgun,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes and tugging on Derek’s shirt. “He’s not going to even know.”

“Stiles. No. I am not going to touch you with your dad in the house. The poor guy just found out about this-” Derek gestured between them, “about twelve hours ago. Not to mention he just risked his life and job to save our stupid asses. You really want to repay him by screwing around in his home while he’s asleep?”

“Oh my God, fine! Make me feel like shit about it, jeez,” Stiles said, exaggerating his eyeroll and sigh. “But you still have to get in with me.”

“What?”

“Derek, I can hardly stand up without leaning most of my weight on this counter. Are you really going to risk me falling in there?” Stiles said with the most evil smirk Derek had ever seen him wear. Derek hoped it was the drugs making Stiles this brave because he didn’t know what he would do if Stiles resorted to guilt trips to get his way from now on.

“You’re a terrible person,” Derek said, kissing Stiles on the forehead so he didn’t have to look at the smug little grin Stiles was wearing because he knew he’d won.

“So I’ve been told,” Stiles said, nipping at Derek’s chin. Derek sighed and grabbed the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head and blushing a fraction when Stiles unabashedly oogled him, which was fine because Derek was oogling back in spite of his protesting the shower. If they were alone, if Stiles wasn’t hurt, if the world wasn’t falling apart around them, Derek would have taken advantage of this moment like nobody’s business. He was dying to pin Stiles against that counter with his hips, drag his nails down Stiles’ back while he left love bites over his neck and chest, Stiles riding his thigh and making obscene noises that drove Derek crazy.

Fuck. They really needed to get this shower over with before Derek lost all grip on his moral compass and did something he’d regret after he dug the buckshot from Mr. Stilinski’s gun out of his skin.

Stiles was dropping his own pants, but couldn’t get his leg out of the right side because he couldn’t put weight on the left. Stiles let out a frustrated sigh and Derek lifted both of Stiles arms up and around his neck.

“Hold on,” he instructed, and Stiles did as he was told, hanging on to Derek’s neck so it could bare most of his weight in order for him to kick his jeans away. Derek held Stiles up with one arm and hooked his fingers under Stiles’ boxer brief waist line. He tugged them down, careful not to drag them over the several inches of white bandage on Stiles’ thigh. He studiously avoided thinking about how Stiles was pressed against him completely naked.

“I hate this,” Stiles whined, stepping gingerly back down on his own feet and letting go of Derek’s neck. “I’ve been taking care of myself since I was a little kid. I hate being taken care of.”

“I understand, Stiles. I really do. But you don’t have to feel ashamed of me helping you,” Derek said, watching Stiles frown at the large bandage on his leg. “You’ve helped me, you’ve helped Erica even though she’s a giant pain in your ass, you take care of Scott like it’s your job... It’s okay to let us take care of you too.”

“I’m kind of like House,” Stiles said, completely left field and off the subject, like he didn’t even hear Derek remind Stiles of his worth. Derek wasn’t sure if that was an A.D.H.D. side effect or a self conscious defense mechanism, but he rolled with it because trying to convince Stiles of his worth was a task Derek hadn’t figured out how to master yet.

“Why are you like House?” Derek asked, making Stiles perk right up.

“Hey, you know who House is! That’s impressive, considering you’ve watched about two hours of TV in the last seven years or so.”

“I had cable in New York for a while,” Derek said, shrugging. “Well Dr. House, we’re going to need to get that bandage off before you get wet. And it’s going to hurt like Hell.”

“I was afraid of that,” Stiles said, nodding and lifting his leg as high as he could. “Like a bandaid then?”

“You want me to do it?”

“If you don’t do it we’ll be here all night as I rip it off millimeter by millimeter, screaming with every leg hair I lose.”

“Alright, you better sit on that counter and brace yourself,” Derek said, not looking forward to doing this in the slightest. Once Stiles hopped his naked butt on the counter, flinching at the way the stitches pulled from just hanging there, Derek walked between his knees and kissed him. Stiles made a noise of surprise, but returned the kiss almost instantly.

It was a rude thing to do, but necessary. The moment Stiles relaxed against Derek’s mouth, Derek held the back of Stiles’ head with one hand and yanked the bandage completely off with the other. Stiles gripped the counter and cried out, almost all the sound getting lost in Derek’s mouth, which was all according to plan. Derek released Stiles’ head and dropped the bandage into the garbage.

“ _Fuuuuuuck you_ ,” Stiles moaned, tipping his head back and waiting for the sting of half his leg hair being yanked mercilessly from his person to subside. Stiles didn’t have as much hair on his thighs as he did his shins, but still... thighs were tender. Derek did not envy him.

“Sorry, man. It had to happen. God, that’s disgusting,” Derek said, not even able to keep his cringe hidden when he looked at the six neat, little stitches on Stiles’ thigh. The skin was swollen a little between the stitches, red and ruined looking, and Derek wished he could pass his healing to Stiles because that shit had to suck.

“Not as gross as that wolfs bane bullet hole you had in your arm that you made me look at,” Stiles said, to which Derek couldn’t argue. He noticed Stiles’ eyes droop a little, the dopey smile telling Derek they needed to hurry this shower up before Stiles succumbed to the medicine and slept another six hours.

“At least this is a walk in shower,” Derek said, opening the frosted glass door and turning on the water. He turned it on luke warm, not his favorite, but Stiles’ wound would appreciate the lack of heat, certainly. “Come on.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow and let Derek lift him off the counter and usher him under the water. Derek sighed and dropped his pants once Stiles was under the spray and holding onto the towel rack.

Derek watched protectively as Stiles let go of the rack and dipped his head under the water when Derek stepped in with him. The way Stiles’ skin looked wet made Derek want to lick at the droplets trailing down his back, but he steeled himself against those kinds of thoughts as best he could. He couldn’t chastise Stiles for being flirty and persistent when he was standing there fantasizing too, could he? He was completely serious about it feeling like a slap in Mr. Stilinski’s face, and he’d like to not give the sheriff any more reason to hate him.

But Stiles was starting to soap himself up and it wasn’t fair and he couldn’t help himself from reaching forward to lather the trail of suds from Stiles’ shoulder into his back. That was innocent enough, right? He was technically there to help, even if while he was helping he massaged the tight muscles of Stiles’ lower back, over his hips and around his stomach, meanwhile leaning in to nuzzle his nose in the short, wet hair on the back of Stiles’ head. This was still just helping.

“I thought you said we weren’t allowed to have fun?” Stiles gloated, and it was definitely gloating; the self-satisfied smile speaking louder than the words. He peered back at Derek over his shoulder and Derek’s guilt couldn’t stifle the urge to keep touching him, tasting him and letting Stiles use him to lean back against.

Derek couldn’t swallow the rumbling growl from escaping his throat though, hoping it was enough to make Stiles not speak anymore because good God, did he not need any reminding that the sheriff’s wounded son was pressing his naked, soapy ass against Derek’s cock and that made him a low down dirty dog.

But then Stiles was tipping his head back on Derek’s shoulder and guiding one of Derek’s hands down his stomach. Derek nipped at his ear and just - the moaning and the touching he just couldn’t- he resigned himself to an eternity in Hell and started focusing on how to make Stiles come while standing on one leg instead.

Stiles must have felt Derek’s resolve crack, because he lifted his arm, hooking it behind Derek’s neck and used the leverage to press himself closer to the front of Derek’s body. Derek took a steadying breath against Stiles’ jaw, telling himself he needed to get a grip on himself before he could make another move. If he let them both get carried away Stiles would inevitably hurt himself and Derek would never forgive himself for not keeping things under control.

“Relax,” Derek instructed, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist and kissing his shoulder. “We have plenty of time.”

It was a thrilling concept, not having to hurry. Even when Stiles’ dad wouldn’t be home for hours, they always seemed to rush, just on the off chance that he’d come home early. Plus, Stiles did everything at the speed of Adderall, and Derek had been dying to have the time to teach him how to take it slow.

Even still, Stiles’ chewed nails were clawing impatiently at the back of Derek’s hand where it sat just under Stiles’ bellybutton, most definitely teasing him by thumbing at the trail of hair. Derek had mercy, sort of, as he let Stiles drag his hand down over his cock, Derek still teasing him with light, slippery touches. 

“Are you really going to make me stand here all- _ah!_ -all night?” Stiles said between gasps.

“I was thinking about it,” Derek purred into his ear, nudging his knee between Stiles’ thighs from behind and resting his on foot the low ledge around the base of the shower, giving Stiles another way to distribute his weight off the hurt leg. Stiles leaned his weight willingly on Derek’s leg and let his eyes fall shut, head still dropped back on Derek’s shoulder. Derek licked and nipped the water droplets on Stiles’ skin down his neck while teasing Stiles’ cock to swell and twitch in his grip.

Stiles used the arm he had around the back of Derek’s neck to drag him down against his open mouth, moaning softly against their tongues when they met. Derek picked up the pace of his fist around Stiles’ cock, feeling Stiles’ leg planted on the ground starting to shake a little from holding him up by itself. Perhaps lessons in foreplay would have to wait.

Derek applied all the right pressure and speed, coaxing a quick climax out of Stiles. He held Stiles tightly around the waist, knowing how he tended to lose control of his body in the moment.

“Shhh,” Derek whispered against Stiles shoulder, holding him as he rode out the aftershocks and tried to gain control of his breathing. “I’m gonna let you go now, okay? Hang on to the wall.”

Stiles did as he was told and leaned forward out of the spray, still panting a little and tried to see what Derek was about to do. Stiles watched over his shoulder as Derek quickly soaped himself up and rinsed off, spitting some of the water out of his mouth and shaking his head. It wasn’t the most efficient shower, but it would do for now, and Derek reached around Stiles to cut off the water.

“But you didn’t-” Stiles started.

“I’m fine,” Derek interrupted. He wasn’t going to make Stiles stand there and strain himself so Derek could rub one out too. He could see the way Stiles’ eyes were drooping from strain and medication, his body hardly holding him up against the wall as it was. Derek took a few deep breaths and pushed down the desire, almost as difficult as pushing the wolf back on the full moon, and wrapped his arm back around Stiles’ waist. “Come on, don’t slip on the tile outside the door.”

“You’re not carrying me up to bed again,” Stiles insisted, punctuating it with a yawn.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Derek said, wrapping a towel around Stiles’ head and ruffling it, drying his short hair. Stiles laughed and took the towel from Derek’s hands.

“You’re going to let me use the crutches finally?”

“No, you’re going to sleep in the guest bedroom so you’re closer to the kitchen and bathroom.”

“Right, you just want to tie me to the bedposts that bed has,” Stiles said, smirking as Derek looked up from tying a towel around his own waist.

“I mean yes, but not anytime soon,” Derek said seriously, but then cracked a smile when Stiles’ eyebrows rose up to his hairline, not sure whether he should take that seriously.

“That’s the second time you’ve talked about tying me down today. Derek, I had no idea you were all kinky like that,” Stiles said, watching Derek bend over to grab all of their discarded clothes.

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek said, for some reason overcome with embarrassment, even though he was the one that perpetuated this conversation. He couldn’t stop smiling though, giving Stiles more ammunition.

“You _are!_ God, don’t think I’m forgetting this. We’re going to talk about what other weird shit you want to do with me when I’m able to deliver.”

“Derek isn’t here anymore, please leave a message,” Derek said, searching in the medicine cabinet for a cotton swab, effectively blocking his blushing face from Stiles’ amused eyes. Derek was not kinky, not any more than the average person anyway. He wasn’t sure why it was so embarrassing to be accused as such. Maybe because now he couldn’t stop thinking about how effective his foreplay lessons would go if Stiles couldn’t rush to push all the right buttons on Derek and make him come too quick. Plus black satin around Stiles’ pale wrists would be hot, after all... Oh, Jesus Christ, fine. _Guilty as charged._

“Yeah whatever, I know your endgame now, Mister,” Stiles said, winking at Derek in the mirror when he shut the cabinet.

“Bedtime,” Derek said sharply, ignoring Stiles’ comment.

“But I just woke up like two hours ago!”

“Six hours over two days is not enough sleep, Stiles.” He picked the crutches up from the corner of the bathroom and handed them to Stiles. Derek had to get a bandage on Stiles’ leg soon; it wasn’t supposed to be uncovered until tomorrow. “You want to walk there, or I can help you.”

“I’ve got this,” Stiles said, knotting his towel tighter around his waist and grabbing the crutches from Derek excitedly. Derek watched closely as Stiles hopped out of the room on the crutches like a professional, Derek shaking his head as he watched him leave.

After Derek dressed in more of Stiles’ clothes, he had ran out to his car to get the small bag of supplies the hospital had given him. Just some gauze pads, medical tape and a couple saline wipes to keep it all clean. Stiles argued with him, not wanting any more tape on his leg because that shit hurts coming off, but eventually Derek won the knitted-eyebrows-stern-stare off because he was in fact an undefeated champion of that game.

Stiles let Derek put the square bandage back over his wound, but he insisted on trying to put his pajamas on by himself, until he almost rolled off the bed trying to get his leg in the hole without bending it too much.

“This is really getting old fast,” he told Derek as he wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, standing up so Derek could pull the bottoms up.

“Would you rather your dad did it?” Derek asked, turning the covers down behind Stiles before he let him sit back down again.

“You know, I really don’t know. On one hand, it wouldn’t be the most embarrassing thing he’s ever done for me,” Stiles said, which Derek decided not to ask him to elaborate on. There were just some things he probably didn’t need to know in the Stiles’ Most Embarrassing Moments folder. “But I wouldn’t get to spend all this weirdly intimate time with you if he were the one changing and washing me like an infant.”

“True,” Derek said, which shouldn’t have made him frown. He felt that weird pang of guilt for enjoying himself while he took care of Stiles when the world outside the door was a disaster, when Scott lost his anchor and Allison had been drawn into the lifestyle of her insane parents.

After turning off the light Derek slid under the covers on the other side of the bed close to the window. For some reason he felt like it might be more of a threat than the side of the bed facing the door. If someone was going to break into the sheriff’s house, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to come through the front door, would they?

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked, rolling over on his unwounded side to look at Derek in the light of the moon coming through the window. “You’re all rigid and broody, I can feel it. Is spending time with me really that bad?”

“No,” Derek said, not elaborating on all the drama he was drumming up in his head. An unhealthy amount of self-loathing and anxiety wasn’t something Derek wanted to unload on an already emotionally taxed teenager.

“Is it Allison?” Stiles asked, only scratching the surface of all of the problems. Derek sighed and looked at Stiles’ concerned face, one he had only just recently grown familiar with. Usually Stiles was made of sarcastic eyebrows and excitement, and sometimes some flirty smirking when they were alone, but the deep, heartache inducing concern was more recent. Whenever Derek looked upset, so did Stiles, which honestly forced Derek to lighten up when he was around him. It was therapeutic, actually, but now Derek was having a hard time rearranging his mood into something less heavy. The weird bubble of security and euphoria of being together for so long had been popped when he went outside to get the medical supplies and he realized his life was literally in danger by stepping a toe out of the door.

“Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep, Stiles,” Derek said dismissively, keeping his eyes off of Stiles’ face, or he might crack and unload under that gaze.

“She’s not coming back, is she?” Stiles whispered somberly. He lifted his thumb to his mouth and started chewing on his nail even though Derek hated when he did that. It was a nervous tick, Derek knew, but he still stopped Stiles every time he started.

“No, I don’t think so,” Derek said honestly, because even if he avoided talking sometimes, he would never lie to Stiles. He especially knew that even if she did come back, it wouldn’t be on good terms. There was something about last night that he hadn’t told anyone, even Stiles.

“Why not? I mean I know she’s kind of on a leash from her parents, but what if she gets away?”

“It doesn’t matter right now. Close your eyes.”

“But, Derek, what aren’t you telling me?”

“ _Not now_ , Stiles, god damn it!  Right now you need to _sleep_. Humans need to sleep to heal, you know that,” Derek said with a bit more aggression than he probably should have, rolling over to face the window. It wasn’t the cold shoulder, but it was definitely a ‘we’re done here’ kind of move. It was a bad note to end the ironically good day on, but Stiles could take a hint.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles sighed, settling down against Derek’s back, snaking a hesitant arm around Derek’s stomach like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be snuggly anymore. Derek felt a little bit like a dick for shutting Stiles down and making him scared that he might set Derek off. That’s not how he wanted things to be between them, even if Derek was aggravated or whatever else. He didn’t want Stiles to ever fear him.

“Sorry,” Derek said quietly, lacing his fingers between Stiles’ around his stomach and hold him tightly around his own body. “I promise we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

“Mmhm,” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s back, his nose pressed against the shirt between Derek’s shoulders. “You’ll be here when I wake up, then?”

“Yes.”

“Oh God, we’re going to have seriously awkward breakfast with my dad, aren’t we?”

“Probably. Are you ready for that? I can get out of here before he wakes up if you want me to,” Derek said, feeling Stiles sigh against his back.

“No, stay,” Stiles said, squeezing Derek closer to himself, spooned right up behind him. He could feel Stiles’ breath getting heavier and heart rate dropping steadily as sleep started to take over. Honestly, if having to spend an awkward breakfast with the sheriff was the only price he’d have to pay to get to spend a little longer in this weirdly comforting safe haven, then bring it on. 

**Author's Note:**

> \---] If you're interested in me continuing, let me know. It might take me a while because I'll be working on my big bang story, but if you're just dying to know what happens to Allison I can write a little companion ending of sorts.


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